One More Night
by chromeknickers
Summary: They'll never be friends, but they'll make this night a good one – a night that will never end.


This story was written for **falling like a star**'s prompt in the DG Forum's Winter 2011 Fic Exchange (see prompt below).

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**One More Night**

She shoves him against the wall, sliding her thigh down the length of him, relishing in his shuddering gasps. Digging his nails into the flesh of her arms, he tries to speak, but she cuts him off with her lips. Her tongue darts inside his mouth, suckling his tongue, and she tastes his desire mixed with her shame.

He takes this moment to grab her by the hair, gathering thick strands of vermilion and curling them inside his fist. Pulling her head back, he strokes his thumb along a freckled cheek. It is a gentle and intimate gesture, but she doesn't want gentle. She wants it hard and rough, reeking of anger and revenge and finality. Caddishly, she swats his hand away and brings her own back, striking his cheek with an open palm. She feels the sting of contact and the red, red hotness of the act. She can see her fingers imprinted on his pale skin, and she smiles wolfishly, like a predator.

Even in her anger, in her need to be rid of him, she has to claim him somehow, mark him. She will ruin him if she can – completely and utterly ruin him. Tonight, she will bleed him empty and leave him because he is just a man – a man she has sworn to hate.

He is grabbing her by the wrists now, spinning her around and slamming her into the wall. Gasps explode out of her lungs upon impact, but she doesn't shut her eyes against the force. Instead, she waits, staring at him levelly. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she can feel goosebumps pimple her arms. He doesn't move, not at first. His warm breath is on her neck, his heart is beating against her breasts, his erection is throbbing against her stomach. She chances a glimpse at his face – his cruelly beautiful face. Smouldering grey eyes meet brown, and they pierce through her, through what is left of her soul.

"I would kill for you," he says, his voice even and low.

She tilts her chin up, and he presses his cheek against hers. Snaking a hand inside her dress, his long fingers creep their way up a dimpled thigh until he finds her warm centre. There he plays her body with a musician's grace, playing a tune they both know all too well. And while his fingers pluck at invisible strings, he turns his face upwards, crushing his mouth against hers. His tongue artfully slips between her lips and explores the caverns of her mouth with incessant hunger. Despite her best efforts to draw herself away, she reaches up and tangles her fingers in his silver-blond hair.

He loves her, she knows, and she is breaking his heart every time she lets him inside. Each time she tells him it is their last, and each time he asks her for one more night because he knows that she is using him, losing herself completely in the release. All her failures, all her faults, all her frustrations – she takes them all out on him, and he lets her. He lets her in, over and over again. And she hates him for it because she ends up hating herself. He is supposed to represent everything evil and immoral – everything she is supposed to stand against – yet she lets him fuck her. Over and over and over and over…

His hand moves down her thigh to pull her leg up against his hip, letting her hook her ankle underneath. She presses into his sex and moans despite the disgust she feels for him, that she knows she should feel. She always overlooks the hate for the lust, for the sweet release. She wants to look into those beautiful, arrogant eyes of his and tell him to just fuck off and die – and she has, so many times, right in the middle of it. But she also wants him in the worst possible way. She wants to feel him devour her, to feel his heat inside her coldness. Just one more night, she tells herself. Just one last time.

Instinct over mind, and she reaches for the hem of his shirt only to have her hands batted away. Instead, he brings his fingers to his collar and tugs, popping the buttons off in haste. She lifts her hands to his bare chest, prepared to slap his hands away should he deny her, but he doesn't – he never denies her. Hands with a pink hue touch ivory pale skin – so soft and smooth, like her own – and she slides them up towards his shoulders, helping him slip his shirt all the way off. Once it hits the floor, she brings her palms back to his chest and lets them travel downward, until he catches her by the wrists and roughly shoves her back against the wall.

His eyes wander, lingering on the décolletage of her dress. Releasing her hands, he brings his own to the front of her dress and rips it down the centre with surprising ease, discarding it onto the floor. It was an act she should have expected: they have danced this dance so many times before. It is the kind of dance that never makes it to the bed.

Boldly, she reaches a hand behind his neck and pulls him down towards her lips. She hates how he towers above her, giving him the illusion of dominance. But he has always been the one to take control, just as she has always been the one to initiate. She lets him conquer her body, and this indulgence has slowly ravaged her mind.

Breaking off the kiss with a painful scrape of teeth, he spins her around and pins her chest to the wall. He always starts with her back, raking his nails down the smoothness of it and sinking his teeth into her shoulder. She can feel his length, still restrained by his trousers, throbbing between the cleft of her arse, and she suppresses a whimper at the thought of what he will do next. How rough will he be? How hard will he punish her – like she wants him to, like she deserves?

Fuck, what is wrong with her?

She feels a snap, and her breasts are released from the bra, which he drops soundlessly to the floor. He presses his chest tightly against her back, and she gasps when he reaches in front to cup her breasts while his tongue swirls, lavishing the side of her neck.

Hate and desire.

She hates him for making her feel so good, for feeling so desired. Why does it have to be him? It is what she wants, what she has wanted since they first started this – whatever _this _is. It was to be an escape from her shit life of failed careers and failed relationships. Fail. Fail. Fail. A one time thing, she told herself back then. One more night. A night that is still going on eight months later.

Why does it have to be him?

He rockets her back to reality as his fingers find an already erect nipple, giving it a tweak as his body still presses her firmly into the wall. There is a small shift from behind, and she feels his other arm move between the wall and the flat line of her stomach, his palm running along her smooth skin before disappearing inside the waistband of her knickers. His middle finger strokes her clit, and she lets out a series of moans, which evolve into muffled screams when he finally penetrates her with a finger. Teetering on the brink of collapse, she steadies her balance and her breathing. She can only describe the feeling as exquisite torture, whimpering loudly when he inserts a second finger and begins to move both within her slippery walls.

"I want to touch you everywhere," he breathes hotly against her ear.

The whispered words are spoken with a drawl, followed quickly by a nip and a suck at her neck and then a frantic in-and-out movement of his fingers. Her cheek is pressed flat against the wall, and she struggles to breathe. When he brings her to the cusp of bliss, he stops, pulling both fingers out and resting them against her humming sex. She trembles, panting loudly as she tries to convince herself not to cry out and beg him to continue. But it is then that she feels him take a step back – a loss of contact – and there is a rustling sound as he shuffles off his trousers. He enters her swiftly from behind, before his pants even hit the floor.

"Fuck!"

She isn't sure who cried out. Maybe she did. Maybe he did. Maybe they both did. She doesn't care. Nothing else matters but the feel of his chest heaving against her shoulder blades, his long fingered hands clasping at her sides, and his length pulsing inside her swollen walls.

Her eyes began to water as he yanks her head back, grasping tangled red locks between his fingers as he sucks on her neck. His other hand moves between her and the wall to cup a breast, squeezing. He begins to move, and she tries to catch her breath as he surges within her, roughly pressing and sliding her body against the wall. Fingertips pinch and tug at nipples and he slides the flat of his palm along them, causing her to shudder violently against the wall. Letting go of her hair, he reaches down to rub her clit, smiling smugly against her ear as she whimpers in ecstasy.

He wants to ruin her for other men, she knows – just like she has ruined him.

Quivering in his hold, she tells herself that this is the last time and she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of being in complete control. So she tries to meet his thrusts, but being held against a wall hardly gives her much freedom of movement. She struggles and manages to push herself away, but he rests a palm on her back and lowers her into an all too familiar position. Her moans become cries, pitched and feverish, rising to a crescendo as he continues to pump inside her. His hands grasp her waist, her breasts swaying beneath her as she supports herself with fingers spread against the wall.

But she's a tease, too. She gives as good as she gets, if not better. With a deep breath, she pushes back to meet him, purposefully contracting around his length, and he stops for a moment, shuddering against her. Groaning aloud, he digs his fingernails into the round flesh of her arse and squeezes, moaning her name like an ungodly prayer before he starts up again – pounding harder and faster.

She is determined to get every last thing she needs out of him, because this will be it – the last time. Clenching tightly, she continues to forcefully thrusts back onto him and muffles a cry when she feels him hit her deep. A tear rolls down her cheek at the exquisite pain, and he reaches up to grasp onto her shoulders, pulling her back as he drives into her all the way to the hilt, forcing her to scream out loud.

He curses incoherent nonsense, fine white-blond hair hanging down in his eyes. Leaning on top of her, his hands reach forward and clutch at her swaying breasts, his mouth trailing wet kisses down her shoulder. She feels her stomach start to quiver and her legs tremble. She isn't going to last much longer, and he can sense that she is close because he picks up his pace. Hammering into her, back and forth, he slides effortlessly in and out of her wetness, hitting her core with every blissfully agonising plunge. It is then that her arms begin to shake, and she can barely hold herself against the wall. The small of her stomach is starting to flutter and soon the waves spread throughout her body, making her skin flush hot as though it is catching on fire.

She can't help but cry out the bastard's name as her orgasm violently racks her body with tremors, weakening her legs and forcing her to lean her cheek against the wall as he continues to thrust into her. He spits out obscenities, and she can still feel him throbbing inside her tender flesh. She grinds out a three-word demand, and, without fail or warning, he explodes inside her in rivulets. She almost comes again from the liquid heat of him filling her – a liquid that is already beginning to drip down her inner thighs.

They both take in mouthfuls of air – breaths in gasps – as he leans forward, burying his sweaty forehead into her neck. His raspy breaths are on her shoulder; his arms are still wrapped around her waist, holding her in place with him still buried inside her. Then he slowly pulls out, and she tenses for a moment before relaxing and letting out an exhausted sigh. They both slide down the wall and collapse onto the floor in a naked heap of tangled limbs. Neither can move their legs. After a minute, he reaches out towards the bed. Long fingers grasp the corner of a duvet and he slides it off the mattress. He drapes it over the both of them, and she lets him pull her onto him, resting her damp brow on his damp chest.

They lie still there, satisfied, yet empty. Together, yet alone.

One more night, she tells herself, as her eyes begin to flutter close in drowsy sleep. One more night and then she ends it. One more night – and they'll make it a good one.

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**Author notes:** Thank you to Ann and Scuba for beta-ing this little one-shot for me, with such short notice. ^_^

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Like a falling star's Prompt 2

**Basic premise:** Any plot, as long as it's inspired by the song 'One More Night' by Stars OR 'Just For A Moment' by Aqualung.

**Must haves:** You have free reign.

**No-no****'****s:** Evil/mean trio, suicide, non-consensual sex, graphic violence.

**Rating range:** All

**Bonus points:** A reference to autumn. 


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